the rite of spring [closed]
It's....beautiful, is Brady's first thought as he steps into the square with the festival in full bloom (both literally and figuratively). But, really, there's no other word for it with everything decked in the soft pastels of Spring and flower petals alight everywhere.
If Brady's eyes sting a bit, he'll swear it's allergies and a reaction to the fresh, fragrant scent of the world's most natural perfume cloying up the air.
He closes them, just to be sure, and grips his hand a little tighter around the handle of his violin case because the action grounds him as much as it sends his heart soaring with a thousand melodies he would play if he could only capture the essence of the festival in a song. (A Herculean task, to be sure.)
With his eyes closed, he feels a brush against his head, and he snaps them open to paw at his hair in reflex. When his fingers brush against the velvety touch of flower petals, he pauses.
Someone's placed a crown upon his head.
"H-hey. What was that for?!"